


A Question of Time

by swtalmnd



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 12:06:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4665930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swtalmnd/pseuds/swtalmnd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames gets a mysterious text that he's not quite certain is from Arthur, especially when his usual proposition gets a positive response this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Question of Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wyomingnot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyomingnot/gifts).



> I rolled "mobile phone" and "question mark" on my Story Dice and this was born. I tried to write a drabble, and ended up with 3K words of porn instead. Oops?

> _Where are you?_

Eames stares at his phone, at the text from an unknown number with proper capitalisation, spelling, and punctuation, and wonders if he's a complete idiot for assuming it must be Arthur. He can't for the life of him think why Arthur would be asking for his location, though, so he shoves that thought aside and texts back, then turns the phone to vibrate and sticks it back in his pocket.

> _i think u got a wrong_  
>  _number, darling_

Eames nibbles on the meat he picked up from a street vendor, making no effort to identify it as he teases another morsel off the stick. He nearly chokes on his bite when his phone vibrates a bit too close to his privates for decency's sake, and makes a mental note that these trousers are not phone-on-vibrate compatible. He switches it back before he checks the message.

> _Don't be an ass. I know_  
>  _it's you, no one else_  
>  _calls me 'darling.'_

Eames laughs and shakes his head.

> _is this really who i think_  
>  _it is & y do you want 2_  
>  _know? finally ready for_  
>  _that night of passion?_

He can practically see Arthur glowering at the reply, and he's grinning as he finishes his mystery meat and tosses the now-empty stick.

> _Maybe I am. Are you_  
>  _man enough to make_  
>  _good on the promise?_

Eames' breath catches and he feels like a bloody girl. He heads back to his hotel, thinking he's going to need to leave here no matter what now that someone's clearly broken his cover somehow.

> _y don't i come to u  
>  instead?_

Eames is almost disappointed when the reply comes.

> _Is that what you need?_

Eames laughs. Question upon question, and no real answers.

> _what do u rly want? im_  
>  _between both jobs & _  
>  _paramours, darling_

Eames packs quickly and efficiently, glad for something to do while he waits for the answer with butterflies in his stomach. It's stupid to be all a-flutter, but the truth is he's wanted Arthur for ages, and has always considered him completely untouchable. If any man is out of Eames' league, it's the gorgeous, efficient, and bloody brilliant Arthur.

The delay is long enough that Eames figures he's got the wrong end of the stick or maybe it wasn't Arthur at all, and he's zipping his suitcase and doing a last check for things that might've rolled into odd places when his phone finally chimes again.

> _I want you._

Eames has to sit down for a moment and collect himself, because that is the most frustrating answer and it's somehow very Arthur.

> _where am i bringing_  
>  _me, then?_

He's been deliberately vague just in case it's not really Arthur and he's letting himself be jerked around over his frankly embarrassing crush, but in the end he knows he'll go to wherever the meeting is set.

He's somehow not even surprised when there's a knock at his door, and he almost ignores his text noise in favour of going out the window but something tells him to check it.

> _Let me in? I'm not_  
>  _here to hurt you._

"We'll see about that," mutters Eames, and he has his gun ready when he opens the door. He never checks peepholes; that's a good way to give someone a free head shot. The door swings open slowly and he's poised to shoot when he finally sees Arthur's familiar face.

"Can I come in?" asks Arthur, not even bothering to mention the gun. One impeccably-shod foot holds the door open when it threatens to swing back on them.

Eames sighs and puts the safety on, tucking the gun back away. "Yeah, fine, but this time I expect you to use your words and answer my bloody questions. Darling."

Arthur laughs and takes the opening, coming in with a rolling suitcase in tow and a nice leather messenger bag over his shoulder, looking every inch the travelling businessman. "I told you what I wanted, Eames."

"Yes, well." Eames lets out a snort of annoyance and flops into the one comfortable chair in the room. "What do you want me for, Arthur?"

"You're not usually this dense," says Arthur. He locks the door, puts his luggage neatly beside it, and then moves Eames' bag to stand next to it. It's when he starts to loosen his tie that Eames finally realises he's being completely serious.

"You've never said yes before," Eames replies, kicking off his own shoes. "And I may hate myself for this in the morning, but why are you saying yes now?"

Arthur shrugs. "It's time," he says, and for a moment Eames can see him, really see that he's not at all sure himself and he wishes Eames would stop being so difficult about things.

Eames gets on board with this idea immediately. "Well, sweetheart, I'm very happy to oblige you, now and for as long as you like in the future," he says. It's a dangerous promise to make, but Arthur's never been a one-off to him, not even that very first time he nearly got his wrist broken for copping a feel of Arthur's very fine arse.

Arthur's mouth quirks, and he hangs his suit jacket in the closet. He's wearing a tailored, pale linen three-piece suit that's perfect for the weather, and all Eames can think of is getting him out of it. Arthur toes off his shoes and socks, shrugging. "I had to be sure of us both first, I suppose."

Eames gets his own socks off, and then he can't stand it anymore. He surges up out of his chair and pulls Arthur into a kiss, and it's hot and messy and full of bloody years worth of passion, apparently on both sides of the equation. "Is there also a job, or can we fuck off somewhere else after this and get a nicer hotel room and stay in it for at least a week?" he asks, not even embarrassed at how hoarse his voice is.

Arthur smirks. "I've already got us a room," he says, "I didn't want to wait."

"I've been waiting ages, love," says Eames, kissing him again far more tenderly. "I should've known you'd have it all planned out for us, once you decided to give it a go."

Arthur lets out an offended little huff that makes something flop in Eames' stomach in a very pleasant manner, and for once he chooses not to ignore that feeling. "One of us had to have a plan," Arthur points out quite fairly, though adding, "You were going to climb out the window," does seem rubbing it in a bit.

Eames laughs and kisses him again. "I really was," he admits. "Are you going to have me, love? Or do you want it the other way 'round?"

Arthur blinks, as if this question hadn't even occurred to him. "You don't have a preference?" he asks, brows knitting.

Eames kisses the crease between them. "You're my preference, Arthur, the rest is window dressing."

That seems to have been the right thing to say, because Arthur positively melts into him, kissing his mouth greedily. Arthur's lips seem tight and thin at first glance, but Eames has been staring at them for a very long time and he's pleasantly unsurprised to find them as strong and mobile as they look. Eames' knees are starting to feel embarrassingly weak, so he pulls Arthur back toward the bed. After all, if they're lying down he can't fall over.

"I don't know what I want, I want all of it," Arthur pants, staring down at where Eames has sprawled across the cheap duvet. "Can I have that?"

"Yeah," says Eames, unbuttoning his own shirt while Arthur stares at him like he's the best thing he's seen all day. "You can have all of me, love."

Arthur grins, wide and toothy. "I'm going to hold you to that, but first I want your mouth," he says, hands back to working on his own clothing, the two of them performing the world's least elegant strip tease for each other. "Your mouth is ridiculous."

Eames smirks. "You've no idea, love, but you'll find out," he replies, tone full of promise. He shucks the rest of his kit in one fell swoop of trousers and pants kicked off onto the floor, then poses shamelessly to show off his muscles, tattoos, and not insubstantial cock. He's hard; of course he's hard with Arthur right there and not a dream or a fantasy or even a projection. This is reality, it's just a better reality than he thought he'd ever earn.

"I definitely want you to fuck me, too," says Arthur, staring hungrily at him.

Eames rolls over, showing off his other assets obligingly. "The feeling is quite mutual," he says, peering over his shoulder to where Arthur is getting the last of his own clothing off and tossed over the chair where it will be slightly less appallingly wrinkled than Eames' things on the floor. 

Arthur's cock is incongruously thick, flushed and pink and absolutely mouth-watering, cut like an American and straining up against his firm, slender stomach. He's neat even there, the thatch around his cock trimmed though not, Eames thinks, actually landscaped beyond that. He's not shaved his bollocks like a porn star or anything, which is something of a relief as Eames himself is entirely _au naturel_ in his nether regions, uncut cock and all.

"That will be good, too," says Arthur, climbing into the bed and rolling Eames back over for another of those shockingly needy kisses. 

Eames wonders when he'll get over being surprised that Arthur wants him. He puts his hands on Arthur's body and finds the feel of him is so much better, so much more than his fantasies, the difference between dream and reality. Arthur's skin is smooth and hot except where there's a scar or three that undoubtedly all have fascinating stories to them. He's more sensitive than Eames expected, though he should have known, really, with the way Arthur insists on excellent fit and quality in everything that touches his skin.

"Do you want to lay back or would you rather fuck my mouth?" asks Eames, not that he really wants the kissing to stop. It's a delight and a wonder to kiss Arthur, naked Arthur that's on top of him, but he's also keen to get to the part where they settle in for the long haul rather than this appetiser. 

"Both. All of it," says Arthur with a grin. "First laying back, though, I want to watch you. I want to see that it's real."

Eames knows just what he means, and he's careful not to roll them off the bed entirely as he gets them flipped again so Arthur is beneath him. Arthur helpfully spreads his legs and Eames has to shake his head. "I know just what you mean," he says, resisting the urge to delay things further by finding his totem. If this is a dream, he wants to keep dreaming it awhile longer before he breaks the spell.

Arthur's skin smells amazing, and tastes even better as Eames licks his way down his neck and nibbles along a collarbone. He's so lean and fit that Eames just wants to worship every inch of him, so he does, a little, sliding his lips and tongue and gentle teeth over his chest. He visits each nipple with attention until they're both hard and crinkled under his tongue, and Arthur is helplessly pushing at his shoulders, urging him downward with a stuttered, "N-now, Eames, now."

Eames likes the note of pleading in his voice very much, but a part of him is used to doing as Arthur says whether he'd admit it or not, at least when it's sensible. He slides down and gives a promising rub of his stubble over those cobbled abs along the way, but doesn't stop this time until he gets to his prize. Arthur's cock is wet and so very hard, and Eames isn't sure how he resisted it this long. At least, until he looks up the length of Arthur's body and sees his face, sees the pink flush of his skin and the hard pebbles of his nipples, and thinks, I did that.

Eames wants Arthur completely wrecked now, and he knows the best way to do it. His mouth has been admired by men and women alike for longer than perhaps they ought to have been making suggestive remarks about it, and he's learned to use it to its full advantage. He runs his lips up the shaft of Arthur's cock, barely parted and using no tongue at all for this first part. He's trying not to be too distracted at the fact that this is Arthur's cock, Arthur here in his bed, but his mind keeps catching on the sight of Arthur above him instead of some poor substitute.

Eames himself has never been so hard in his life.

He leaves his lips against the crown of Arthur's cock and says softly, "I've wanted to taste you for years, you know." His lips and breath caress Arthur's skin in the same way the words send pleasure, he hopes, into Arthur's brain. His brain is Eames' favourite part, anyway, though his body is nothing to shake a stick at.

"I know," says Arthur, breathless and needy, hands threading into Eames' hair. "Took me a while. I want, oh, have wanted, I just. Wasn't time."

Eames rewards this bit of honesty by wrapping his lips around the head of Arthur's cock and lapping away the precome gathered there, letting a moan vibrate through them both. Arthur echoes the moan and his hips thrust up once, just enough to slip an inch or so of shaft into the heat of Eames' mouth. Eames allows it, since it fits with his future plans, then pulls back with just enough suction to make Arthur moan again. He pulls all the way off and presses a kiss to the head, then teases around the crown again with lips and tongue.

"Eames, fuck!" Arthur protests, hands mussing up Eames' hair, scrabbling to try to get him to do what Arthur needs.

"Later, pet," Eames promises, but he pretends to give Arthur what he wants, taking Arthur's whole cock in his mouth, the head back in his throat, and then pulling off again with another luscious suck. Arthur arches beautifully, all those long lines of his body pulled taut, cock trying to follow as Eames pulls all the way off and smirks at him. "I'm busy right now."

"Fucking get to it, then," says Arthur, but he's not even remotely angry, all that coiled energy turned to lust just for Eames.

"Well," says Eames, giving his cockhead one more lick, "since you asked so nicely, darling." This time when he sucks Arthur down it's with intent, throat open and tongue working, his hands finding their way to the rest of Arthur's delightful bits to toy with his bollocks and press up behind them, to tease and circle around the wrinkles of his entrance without once pushing inside.

Arthur obliges him by rutting up into his mouth, not quite fucking but as close as he can get with Eames still in control. Eames is filthy and skilled and he uses everything he's ever learned about sucking cock to make absolutely certain that Arthur will keep his promise for another chance at this, ignoring the voice in his head telling him that this isn't a bloody audition. Arthur makes him want, need, to impress; Arthur with his perfect suits and impeccable planning and calmness under fire. So Eames lets himself impress Arthur, but lets himself see past that as well, see Arthur coming apart under Eames' mouth and hands, swearing and bucking and finally coming, bitter and perfect on Eames' tongue.

Eames swallows, of course, and pulls off long and slow, with just enough suction to make Arthur squirm. "I believe you were saying something about my mouth?" he says with a lopsided grin.

"You fucking," Arthur snorts and pulls him up by the hair for a kiss hot enough to curl Eames' toes. "Your ridiculous fucking mouth."

Eames lays himself over Arthur, cages in his willing partner with his bulk and his limbs, and kisses him again and again. "You love my mouth, you've always loved my mouth, darling," he accuses, trying to keep his tone light, teasing instead of questioning.

"Damn right I have," agrees Arthur, and something uncurls in Eames' chest, loose and warm and fluttering. "Though if you expect me to get it up again soon after that."

Eames interrupts him with another kiss. "I was hoping you'd return the favour, actually," he says, rolling them over one more time, laying Arthur on him, all boneless and languid, and he has one more twinge of worry that this is a dream. Real Arthur has never given Eames a look half so wanton, hair mussed and cheeks flushed, mouth red and wet from kissing.

"I suppose that can be arranged," says Arthur, and there's something in his voice that reminds Eames that he's not the only one who's been wanting here. Arthur isn't doing this as a favour or a pity fuck, he wants Eames, and he came all the way here to give them what they both wanted.

When Eames kisses him again, this time it's without that little hesitancy, that fear that this will be the last time, or the next time will. Arthur feels it, he's too good at reading people not to, and he melts into Eames and kisses back with the same unfettered need and affection. It's the affection that keeps trying to catch Eames off guard, but he's almost got the hang of it now.

All he really has to do is listen to his own heart, and believe.


End file.
